


A peculiar way of fitting together

by asterismal (asterisms)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Horcrux Tom Riddle - Freeform, M/M, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23138830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisms/pseuds/asterismal
Summary: “Aren’t you going to ask mewhyI’m wearing a diadem?”
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 43
Kudos: 949
Collections: Problematic Ships Flash Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jadejabberwock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadejabberwock/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [jadejabberwock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadejabberwock/pseuds/jadejabberwock) in the [March2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/March2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> The house elves show Harry the Room of Requirement and Harry takes the time to explore it a bit before bringing his DA there. He finds an old tiara and puts it on as a joke, thinking about how red Snape would get at seeing Harry as an "arrogant prince" in one of their Occlumency lessons. The only problem is....now he can't take it off.
> 
> Harry/Diadem!Tom
> 
> this was going to be a very creepy, atmospheric piece, and then the crack snuck in. maybe i'll write another version. maybe i won't.

“I have a problem,” Harry announces.

The majority of the students in the Gryffindor Common Room ignore him, as they’re all quite used to Harry Potter and his problems by now and would like to remain as far away from them as possible, because they tend to result in near-death or serious property damage or both. Unfortunately for Ron and Hermione, they’re his friends and thus obligated by contract to pay attention to him.

(While many have heard of this supposed contract, Fred and George remain the only non-parties to have ever laid eyes on it. Neither of them were very impressed. 

“This is just a blank piece of parchment,” Fred had said with a frown.

“Is not!” Ron had protested, flushing. He’d snatched it out of Fred’s hands and vowed to hide it better next time. “It’s got dirt and blood and stuff on it.”

As Fred looked at the hand that once held the contract in horror, George had snorted and promptly decided that whatever nonsense his littlest brother had gotten himself into with Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, the less he knew the better.)

“What’d you do this time?” Ron asks, not looking up from where he’s thoroughly trouncing Hermione at chess, “Does it involve close contact with any piece of Malfoy’s anatomy?”

For a moment, Harry can only stand there, mouth hanging open in disturbed shock. “No!”

“Oh, good.”

Harry turns to Hermione instead, but she’s similarly unsympathetic. “I’ve seen the way Malfoy looks at you, Harry,” she tells him, “it isn’t that odd of a question.” 

“For Merlin’s sake,” Harry says, “will you _please_ look at me.”

Ron squints up at him. “Nice tiara, mate.”

“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione says with a huff, “it's a diadem. Tiaras are half-circles.” 

“Oh, sorry, Harry,” Ron says, as if Harry cares at all what it’s called, “Nice diadem.”

Harry glares down at his friends, his hands planted firmly on his hips. “Seriously?”

“What?” Ron asks, and Harry can tell he’s trying very hard not to laugh. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me _why_ I’m wearing a diadem?”

Hermione finishes her next move then turns to look up at Harry. In her most patient voice, which just so happens to double as her most condescending voice, she asks, “Why are you wearing a diadem, Harry?”

Deciding that’s probably the best he’s going to get from them, Harry drops to sit beside them on the floor before the fire, pulling uselessly at the diadem’s band. “I can’t get it off.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asks, narrowing her eyes at the diadem, as if it might tell her all its secrets if she glares hard enough.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Harry says as he gestures toward the headpiece, “No matter how hard I try, it won’t come off.” 

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re welcome to see for yourself.”

Before Hermione can try anything, Ron gives it a go, grabbing the band and tugging as hard as he can. All he succeeds at doing is pulling Harry half into his lap, a move that results in a round of catcalling when the rest of the Common Room takes notice.

“Oh, fuck off,” Ron says, though he’s laughing. 

Harry just buries his face in Ron’s shoulder. 

Hermione chooses this moment to strike, wrapping her hand around the band and pulling as if she might achieve a different result from when Ron tried the same thing only a moment ago. To Harry’s complete lack of surprise, this doesn’t work either. Instead of diadem-free, Harry finds himself flat on his back with his head in Hermione’s lap and Ron between his splayed legs. Chess pieces dig into his spine.

“You guys are the worst,” he says as he stares up at the ceiling. 

Soon enough, what feels like the entirety of Gryffindor House gets involved, everybody leaping at the chance to try and remove the stubborn piece of jewelry from Harry’s head. 

“Why the fuck did you even put it on?” Angelina demands breathlessly as she pulls at the band with both hands.

Harry, who is almost parallel to the floor with the twins pulling at his feet and the rest of the quidditch team anchoring Angelina, has no good answer to give. 

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he says in the moment before Angelina’s hands slip and he finds himself crashing face first to the floor, his legs still held aloft by Fred and George. He groans. “You can let go of my feet now.”

They do so, and he lets them thunk to the floor, the dull thud offering a pretty decent representation of his mood at the moment.

“You know,” Fred says as he crouches down beside Harry’s head, “There is one spell we could try.”

“Of course,” George continues, “it might make all your hair fall out.”

Harry rolls to his feet and springs away. “Oh, wow,” he says, a fake smile plastered across his face, “I’m suddenly very alright with having a tiara stuck on my head for the rest of my life.”

George scoffs at him. “Coward.”

Harry glares, but Ron swoops in before he can attempt to start something, grabbing him under his arms and dragging him back across the common room. As he goes, Harry lifts both his middle fingers in the air, and Fred snorts with laughter as George only blows him a kiss in reply. 

Eventually, they give up on trying to remove the diadem.

Feeling very much like a failure, Harry falls asleep with the stubborn, over-friendly jewelry still firmly attached to his head.

When he next wakes, he’s no longer alone in his bed, and there’s a hand pressed flat against his mouth. “You know, Harry,” a distressingly familiar voice says, right against his ear, “You were trying so very hard to be rid of me, earlier. That hurt my feelings.”

With his heart in his throat, Harry jerks his elbow back, striking his assailant in the ribs. The arms holding him loosen just enough for him to roll atop his captor. 

When he does, he thinks he might be sick.

Tom Riddle smiles up at him with his distressingly handsome face, looking far too smug for anyone's peace of mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> commence Bad Touch


	2. Chapter 2

What does it say about him, Harry wonders, that he can’t even say he’s surprised by this turn of events? By the time Tom Riddle stops struggling beneath him, he still doesn’t have an answer. 

“Fuck,” he says, breathless. 

He lifts the pillow from Tom’s face, just to make sure he isn’t faking.

When he doesn’t even twitch, Harry lets himself relax for the first time since he woke up to a find strange man in his bed with him. He lifts his hand to his head and frowns when he feels warm metal. The diadem is still on, then. 

Maybe it’s like the diary. 

He grimaces. The thought of taking a basilisk fang to it while it’s still attached to him isn’t very pleasant, but he supposes he’ll do it if he has to. In the meantime…

He rolls out of bed, padding on silent feet to Ron’s bed. 

He pulls the curtains open, smiling when he sees Ron curled around one of his pillows, his face tucked beneath it. “Ron,” he hisses, trying not to wake anyone else. “Wake up.”

Ron grumbles in his sleep, turning over so his back is to Harry. 

Harry rolls his eyes. 

He looks around to make sure no one is stirring then pokes Ron sharply in the shoulder. 

“Whazzit?” Ron asks, muffled.

Harry pokes him again. “It’s Voldemort,” he says, “Get up.”

Ron sits up so fast he almost smacks his head into Harry’s. “What!”

“Shh,” Harry says, clasping his hand over Ron’s mouth before he can get too loud. “Don’t wake the others, but I need your help.”

When he thinks Ron is calm enough to not immediately start yelling, he pulls his hand back. 

“Harry, what the fuck!” Ron whispers harshly, his eyes wild, “Are you fucking mental? You can’t just say that shit!” 

Harry rolls his eyes and grabs Ron by the hand, pulling him out of bed.

“I’m not just saying shit,” he says before he pulls his own curtain back open, revealing the body of a young Voldemort passed out in his bed. “You can’t see it because I may have smothered him a little bit and he’s currently passed out, but his eyes are red.” Ron looks alarmingly pale, suddenly, like he might pass out. “Ron?” 

Ron waves his concern away, staring down at the body like he’s seen a ghost. “This is real?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, fuck.” 

Harry sighs. “Tell me about it.”

“What are we gonna do?” Ron asks. 

Harry looks down at Tom’s body, considering. “Well, first, we should probably get him out of my bed.”

Ron nods rapidly. “Definitely.” 

So, mindful not to wake the others, Harry and Ron arrange themselves so they can pick up Tom’s body and begin moving him out of their dorm and down the stairs. 

It’s more difficult than it sounds.

“He’s so heavy,” Ron says with a groan. “Why is he so bloody tall?”

Harry shushes him, because he doesn’t want to wake any of the others, but he feels some of that same frustration as they try to maneuver Tom’s limp body down the spiral staircase. 

“It really isn’t fair,” Harry says as he knocks Tom’s head against the wall entirely by accident, “I mean, he’s strong, handsome, and tall? What an asshole.”

He can almost feel Ron’s disapproving stare burn into him. “You think he’s handsome?” 

Harry flushes and, in the process of attempting to stutter out a denial, loses his grip. He watches, mouth open in horror, as Tom’s upper body falls. Before he can grab him again, he hits the stairs, and his skull cracks against the edge of a stone step. 

“Well done, Harry,” Ron says with a grin. 

Harry glares as he hefts Tom back up. The rest of the trip down the stairs is made without trouble, the silence broken only by Ron’s occasional chuckles, likely at the memory of Tom Riddle’s head smacking against the stairs. 

When they reach the common room, Harry lets out a relieved sigh when they find it empty. 

It usually is by this time of night, but one can never be sure. 

(He very carefully doesn’t think about the time he came down the stairs to grab a book he’d forgotten, only to be scarred for life by Oliver Wood and Percy Weasley moving atop one of the chairs together, a scene which he’d shared with not even Ron and Hermione.)

They deposit Tom’s body on a couch near the cold fireplace. “You know,” Harry says, “It’s just occurred to me that we could have used magic to make that much easier.”

Ron groans. “Shut the fuck up, Harry,” he says. Then, with his hands on his hips as he looks down at Tom’s body, he asks, “Now what?” By the look on his face, you’d think he was staring down at a pile of erumpent dung. 

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know.”

They look down at Tom together.

“And he just… showed up in your bed?” Ron asks.

“Mhm.” Harry tilts his head, as if seeing Tom at a different angle might give him a solution for the problem he presents. “I woke up, and there he was with his hand over my mouth.”

“And your first instinct was to smother him?”

Harry clears his throat, ignoring the memory of what Tom’s body felt like beneath his own. “That is correct.” 

“Huh.” Ron bends down so he’s at eye level with the unconscious man. Harry doesn’t know what he might be looking for, but if it’s something important, Ron will tell him.

He lets his gaze stray back to the body as well.

He wonders how old this Tom is. The Tom from the diary was a teenager, but this one looks older. He looks… good. Then again, Harry notes as he looks closer, he really is quite pale, almost inhumanly so. The shape of his face seems just a little bit too sharp. 

So, not quite a snake person, but the transformation has begun.

“What the fuck.”

They turn to see Hermione standing at the bottom of the steps to the girls’ dormitory, looking profoundly irritated.

“Hermione!” Ron exclaims, backing away from where he was bent over Tom’s prone form, as if that might remove him from the situation entirely, “What are you doing down here?”

“My dumbass senses were tingling,” she tells them, voice flat. 

Harry snorts. He tells Ron, “I cast accio on her socks.”

As she walks by him to see their newest problem for herself, she uses said socks to whack him on the shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, but he rubs at his arm anyway. Upon seeing the wounded look he casts her way, Hermione glares and proclaims, “It’s not exactly my favorite thing to wake up to!”

Ron flushes, earning him an odd look from Harry. “What is?” Ron asks her. 

“What?” Hermione says, looking startled. 

For Merlin’s sake, Harry thinks, not now. “Can we please focus?”

“Erm, right,” Ron says, rubbing at the back of his head. “We should… do that.”

Harry thinks he's never experienced a silence so awkward. Hermione’s hair frizzes more than usual as she looks down at the floor, her cheeks glowing.

"So," she says once she's gathered herself again, gesturing to the body, "Who's this?"

Harry sighs. "It's Voldemort," he says. "Well, it's a version of him."

For a long moment, Hermione is silent. Harry gets the impression she's fighting the urge to grab a large object and use it to smash Voldemort's head in. 

Or maybe he's projecting. 

Finally, instead of resorting to violence, she says, “We should get Dumbledore.”

Harry sighs, hanging his head. 

Right. That probably should have occurred to him before now.

He heads for the stairs to the boys’ dorm, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll grab my cloak—”

“If it’s all the same to you,” Tom’s voice says, and Harry freezes, “I’d rather you didn’t.” 

With his heart in his throat, he whirls back to face the couch, where Tom Riddle’s body is sitting back up, rubbing at the back of his head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really did mean it when I marked this as complete, and then this happened
> 
> Inspiration may or may not strike again


End file.
